


Join Me In Death

by omfgheatherrr



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 08:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9114532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omfgheatherrr/pseuds/omfgheatherrr
Summary: Erik is dead. But that's not going to stop him from trying to spend an eternity with Christine. One-shot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo I wrote this in 2004, when I was a wee baby fan-fiction writer. It's pretty terrible. I am flinging it into the endless void of the internets on the off-chance that somebody, somewhere, at some time, may have some slight enjoyment from it.

It was late in the day and the servants were still bustling around the entrance hall to the huge manor, as was the Vicomte de Chagny himself, overseeing the proper execution of orders. Christine was in a discreet corner leaning against the massive open oak doorframe, silent and invisible to the chaos around her. She watched Raoul pace from side to side, occasionally running his hands through his hair, and she could see the stress piling higher and higher on his shoulders. He had been like this for the past couple of days; things had been difficult for him in his business and it had all amounted to him being called to a town just far enough from the manor that he would have to spend the night away from home. Christine, of course, had personally objected to this, but she had no power over these things and so her wishes were left unconsidered.

At long last, the horses were drawn, the carriage was driven up, and all of Raoul's things were packed. Now the only thing missing from the vehicle was the Vicomte himself, and as he placed his jacket on his back and pulled on his white satin gloves over his hands, he noticed Christine in the corner. His dark, quixotic eyes softened a bit as he took in her petite figure, and he found himself smiling at her.

"You weren't planning on leaving without saying goodbye, were you?" Christine asked, striding towards him, a slight hint of remorse in her tone.

"Of course not, love," he answered, taking her into his arms and placing a kiss atop her head. "If I did, you would send to have me murdered."

She smiled into his chest squeezed him before letting go. "Have a safe trip," she chimed as he grabbed his top hat from the hanger by the door. 

"Oh, and Raoul?" she called after him. He turned around from his position halfway down the porch steps. "Get back as quickly as you possibly can." He nodded and shot another warm smile at her.

By the time the carriage pulled out of the driveway, the servants had already closed the main doors and Christine was watching from a window in the adjacent living room. As the sun slipped below the horizon and the carriage moved beyond Christine's line of sight, the sky leaked three last hues of pink, blue and purple before finally draining to the dark and cold black of night.

Later on in the evening, Christine found herself getting ready for bed later than she usually did. After Raoul had left, she had spent the rest of her night in the library, where she'd gotten herself particularly lost in a romantic poetry book she had never read before. Now she was in the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, clad in her dressing gown and leaning over the counter. She was not looking forward to spending the night in the huge king-sized bed occupied only by herself, and she knew she would miss Raoul's soothing, deep voice talking her to sleep as he did every night. This wasn't the first time she'd had to be left in his absence--and she was sure it wouldn't be the last--but she succumbed to oppressive loneliness each time.

Christine's hands cupped the waterfall of water streaming underneath the faucet and lead the cool liquid to her face, massaging her cheeks and forehead with her soft, tired hands. Letting the water drip down her neck, she found the cold metal handles and shut off the running water, blindly feeling the counter for a hand towel. When she found it, she brought the fabric to her face, and just then, she heard a faint sound, like someone exhaling, and she felt a cold pressure on the back of her neck.

She started, dropping the towel on the sink, and for a moment, she stopped breathing, all her senses strained to try and locate the source of the disturbance. As quietly as she could, she tiptoed to the half-open door where her bedroom lay beyond in darkness. She reached out with a shaking hand and pressed four fingers against the wood, and the door slowly creaked open, the light from the fire flickering into the abyss beyond...

As far as Christine could see, there was no one there.

She breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back against the counter and staring herself in the eye through the mirror. "Stop scaring yourself," she said aloud, trying as best she could to muster a courageous tone to convince herself that everything was all right. She glared at herself for a second before grabbing the candle from the counter and slowly walking into the silence of her bedroom, the shadows playing games with her in the corners of her eyes. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she slowly set the candle on her bed stand table and slipped inside the Egyptian silk sheets and comforter.

As soon as her head sunk into the pillow, she knew something was wrong.

Christine sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes as wide as saucers, her pupils dilated to their maximum capacity as she strained to scan the room with what little light she had. She was shaking again, and she could feel sweat beads start to collect on her forehead. Just before her breathing got out of control, she swallowed and started to talk to herself again.

"Christine, the only reason you are scared right now is because you're home alone in a huge house and you're scared for your life because anyone could sneak in here." About then she stopped herself from speaking, because her words obviously weren't comforting.

Suddenly, Christine got an idea. Her head turned towards the bed stand table. Her eyes weren't on the candle, however, but the drawer built into the little piece of furniture. She reached out and pulled it open, feeling the contents inside. She pulled a rather large, oblong velvet black box and set it on her lap, running over its edge with one finger. She opened the box and sighed contentedly, for there, resting upon a red silk interior, was a long, sharp, and luminescent silver dagger with a 10-inch blade. Raoul had given it to her as a reassurance of protection on nights such as these. She picked it up by its handle and held it vertically in front of her, her eyes scanning over it in wonder at its sharpness. She was just admiring the way the metal reflected the light of the candle when she saw something move in the shadows beyond the foot of her bed.

She jumped again, and then, remembering the dagger, she spoke into the darkness. "I swear if there is someone in here, you'd better leave. I'm armed and I will kill you if I have to!"

At first, there was silence. Then she saw definitive movement again, and it was certainly coming towards her. She spoke again, louder this time, but her voice cracked in fear. "Get away from me! I swear I _will_ stab you!" 

Then, to Christine's horror and amazement, a tall, dark figure emerged out of the shadows. "My dear, I am already dead." The dagger dropped from Christine's hands and she clasped a hand over her mouth as the figure strode casually into the light. His cloak twirled about his feet as he held out a white-gloved hand towards Christine, and her tear-filled eyes met his two dark, mysterious orbs hidden behind his classic white mask.

It was Erik.

"But you...you're dead...you _died_!" Christine stammered, crawling backwards across her bed as Erik strode ever closer.

"Yes, that's what I just said," he explained casually. He took another step closer and stopped just before he touched the bed. Christine, however, did not stop, and fell over the side of the bed. She seemed not to notice, though, for she stood as quickly as she could and continued to walk backwards until her back was pressed up against the wall. Erik watched her for a few moments, his eyes drilling holes into her, before simply walking straight through the bed and towards her. She took a sharp intake of breath, pressing herself as hard as she could against the wall as if she too might just slip through it. "You're a ghost," she managed to breathe.

"That is generally what dead people become," he growled. He stopped in front of her and stared into her frightened orbs. "You're scared. Why?"

At this, her throat closed up and she found she could not answer him. Soft whimpering noises were the only things she could muster to escape her throat.

"Shh," he cooed. "I was mistaken for asking. You're surprised. It _has_ been too long..." His sentence trailed off and he lifted a ghostly hand to her cheek, brushing a piece of her curly auburn hair out of her face. Christine's ragged breathing intensified as she felt the same coldness as she had on the back of her neck in the bathroom. "There is no reason to be afraid," he continued to speak softly to her. "Have you forgotten your Angel of Music?" Then Erik began to sing to her. Not really any words, simply just notes that cascaded from his mouth like raindrops from a cloud, connecting with the petite girl in front of him and washing over her body. So many memories flooded back to her; of the opera house, of the underground lake, and of the long nights they had spent together, singing...

Christine's body relaxed and she closed her eyes, a hand going up and covering the one Erik had cupped her face with. "No Angel, I have not forgotten you."

"That's a good girl," he whispered, lowering his hand.

"But why have you come?" she inquired.

The Phantom looked down for a moment, gathering the words in his head. "Christine Daaé, my love..." He looked back up at her. "Do you still love me?"

Christine was taken aback by this question, not only because of the obvious inquiry but also because he had used her maiden name, and not her proper married name. "Erik, Raoul and I...we..."

He interrupted her, a slight flame igniting in his gaze. "I asked you if you still loved me."

She found she had to divert her gaze. She strode past him, back towards the bed, a hand touching the mahogany pillar at the end of the bed frame. "Yes, I do." Her answer was not a lie, and Erik could tell. "I've missed you," she added.

Erik followed her and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her thin frame. Again the strange, cold feeling enveloped Christine and she began to shiver. She stepped away from Erik's embrace, tears welling up in her eyes. "It can't be like this," she choked. "Not with Raoul still here, and you...like _this_..."

"That's why I've come." He took a step forward and wiped a tear from her cheek. He leaned forward and whispered something, barely audible, in her ear. "Join me in death." He swept around her, seemingly gliding over to the other side of the bed where the dagger had dropped.

"W-What?" she stammered.

Erik picked up the dagger and examined it in his hands. He exhaled a long breath. Christine could barely make out what he said next. "Would you die tonight for love?"

Christine was speechless. Her eyes were unblinking as he carried the dagger over to her, holding it out for her to take. She took a step backwards. "Are you crazy?"

It was then that Erik began to sing again.

His voice was too powerful. It was as if Erik could make anyone do anything with that voice. Christine had been trained to it at a very early age, and now, she could feel the melodies turn to ropes and wrap themselves around her body, tightening with each change in octave. She closed her eyes and allowed the notes to caress over her.

" _We've waited so long for this moment to come."_ Christine felt her body go limp, and then her arms reaching out. " _We're so anxious to be together_." Her hands touched the menacing steel of the blade, and then, as if it had a mind of its own, Christine heard herself sing one short, simple harmony.

" _Together in death_..."

She felt Erik's freezing hands guide the dagger to the point where it would penetrate her diaphragm, and without opening her eyes, she felt the point pierce into her skin through her nightgown. Erik continued to sing in his enchanting tone, his voice filling her head until she couldn't think for herself, and she only knew the pressure on the dagger was ever increasing to the point where the pain was terrible...

Erik whispered one last thing in her ear. "This life isn't worth living..." And then Christine thrust the dagger into herself.

Christine shrieked.

She sat up on the bed, her eyes wide, her body drenched in a cold sweat, her eyes fighting to adjust to the darkness, and she continued to shriek.

Next to her in the darkness, weight shifted, and a hand reached out and touched her shoulder. "Christine, Christine, it's all right my love, calm down." A sooth, calming voice reached her ears. It was not Erik's.

"Raoul...oh, Raoul, I've just had the worst dream..." she exclaimed, trying to get a hold of her breath.

"See, that's all it was, it was a dream," Raoul whispered, brushing the hair out of her face. "Are you okay? Can you fall back asleep?"

"Yes, I think so," she sighed. "But there's something I need to check first." Christine slipped out of bed and she stood in front of the little table on the side of her bed. Opening the drawer, she felt around for matches, and, finding them, struck one and lit the candle placed on top of the table. She pulled the drawer out further into the light, and when she found what she was looking for, she gasped.

There was the little black velvet box with the dagger inside, and on top of the case, written in sloppy red ink, was a note.

"I'll _always_ be there singing songs in your head."


End file.
